Trailsman #251, The :

“Clarence, don’t!” Skye Fargo shouted, but his plea fell on deaf ears. The giant ripped into Charlie Vrittan and Moran before they could defend themselves. A backward swipe of a gigantic arm catapulted Charlie head over heels even as Clarence’s other hand closed on Moran’s windpipe, and constricted. Fargo went to shoot but Clarence swivelled, and it was Moran, struggling and squawking, who filled the Henry’s sights. Skipping to the left for a clear shot. Fargo didn’t see the hide-covered foot sweeping toward his midsection until it slammed into his ribs with the impact of a runaway steam engine. It felt as if his entire chest had caved in.

The next Fargo knew, he was on his back in the dust, his ribs on fire. In front of him, Clarence was throttling the life from Moran. Charlie lay where he had fallen, either unconscious or dead.

Out of the cabin barreled the three Air Breathers Fargo had left to watch the root cellar. They had heard the racket, and as they came through the doorway they leaped to help Moran. Since they couldn’t fire at such close quarters, they beat Clarence about the head and shoulders with their guns. But they might as well have been beating on a boulder for all the effect they had.

Fargo placed his hands under him to rise, and was promptly slammed flat as someone crashed down on top of him. Thinking one of the Air Breathers had tripped over him, he gripped a dangling arm to push the man off. Suddenly a face flopped in front of his. It was Moran, his neck a mangled ruin, his eyes wide in the disbelief he experienced at the moment he died. Shoving the body, Fargo heaved upright. He spotted the Henry and scooped it up as the clearing rocked to the boom of a gunshot.

Clarence had an Air Breather in each hand and was doing to them as he had done to Moran: strangling them alive. The two men kicked and bucked, but they were kittens in the iron grasp of a tiger.

The third Air Breather, the woman, was the one who had fired. Holding her revolver in both hands, she took precise aim at the giant’s head. “Drop them!” she hollered.

Clarence did no such thing. Pivoting, he hurled one of the men at her. The woman tried to skip aside but she was much too slow and was bowled over, allowing Clarence to wrap his other hand around the head of the Air Breather still in his grasp, and begin at twist.

Fargo sighted along the Henry. He felt sorry for the stripling, but he would be damned if he would stand there and let another life be extinguished. At a range of less than eight feet he fired directly into Clarence’s torso. The impact of the heavy-caliber slug was enough to flatten most men in their tracks, but all the giant youth did was blink.

The man in the grip of Clarence’s giant hands was Fred, the Air Breather who had been wounded earlier. Now he screamed, a cry torn from the depths of his being even as his head was torn from his shoulders. A rending of flesh, a loud crack, and the deed was done.

Fargo worked the Henry’s lever to eject the spent cartridge and feed a new one into the chamber. He glanced down for just a heartbeat, and something crashed against his temple, staggering him. The world spun, and he heard the woman shriek. As his vision cleared, he saw Fred’s head upside down next to his left boot. Clarence had thrown it at him.

Jarred backward, Clarence regained his balance, uttered a roar that shook the mountains, and flung the woman to the earth. The crunch and crackle of breaking bones testified to the raw brute power of his granite physique.

Molding his cheek to the Henry’s stock, Fargo fixed a bead on Clarence’s forehead as the youth turned toward him. He touched his finger to the trigger, and hesitated.

Tears were streaming from Clarence’s eyes, a torrent that had dampened his cheeks and chin. He wore a pleading expression, his need mirrored in his gaze, as he coiled to spring.

“Damn your mother to hell,” Fargo growled, and stroked the trigger. For all of ten seconds after the immense frame toppled, he stood with his head bowed. Then someone moaned, and he stirred and looked around.

Charlie Vrittan was sitting up. He had a knot above his right eye, but he was fortunate compared to the rest. Surveying the carnage, he recoiled at the sight of the severed head. “God Almighty!”

“The boy killed every last one?” Charlie exclaimed, rising. Aghast, he stumbled from one body to the next as if drunk. “Even poor Martha. She and Olivia were very close.”

The mention of Dixon reminded Fargo of the woman who hated her and wanted her dead. “Where’s Sarah?” he asked, rotating three hundred and sixty degrees. In all the confusion she had disappeared. He glanced at Charlie, and the same answer occurred to them both. As one, they sped inside and over to the root cellar.

Olivia Dixon was as good as dead, and Fargo blamed himself. He should have kept an eye on Arvin. She had played them all for lunkheads, siccing her son on them to keep them occupied while she made her escape. Coldhearted and devious didn’t begin to describe her.

“Are you loco? There are still plenty of Dirt Breathers left. And Sarah will be expecting us. She’ll have a suitable welcome prepared.”

Fargo’s estimation of Vrittan dropped a little. “Would Olivia refuse if Sarah was holding you captive? Did those followers of yours who just died for your cause hold back when Clarence went berserk?’

Charlie bent to study the tunnel entrance. “You just don’t savvy, do you? I haven’t set foot down there since Sarah and her brood drove me out. And I never was all that comfortable being underground to begin with.”

“Prospector, hell.” Charlie squatted, removed his floppy hat, and ran his stubby fingers through his gray hair. “This was the first time in my life I ever went looking for gold. Beginners luck, you might say.” He shoved his hat back on. “I was like everyone else. All fired up because of the big strike in California. So I quit my job and headed West.”

“What kind of job?” Fargo asked merely to put Vrittan more at ease. The man was going along whether he wanted to or not, but he would like Vrittan to think it was his idea.

“I was a performer with the Hailey and Armbrewster Traveling Circus, out of New York City. Part of a troupe of seven dwarves. Tumblers and acrobats and the like.” Charlie wistfully smiled. “I miss those days. If I get out of this mess alive, I’m going to look Mr. Armbrewster up and beg for my old job back.”

“Dixon is a fine woman. She sided with you of her own free will, and paid for it with the loss of her brother. Can you turn your back on her now, when she needs help the most?”

Smacking the floor in irritation, Charlie grumbled, “You missed your calling, friend. You should have been a lawyer. You’d never lose a case.” He slowly rose and moved to the ladder. “I have an idea where the Dirt Breathers took her. It’ll take about fifteen minutes to get there so we’d best light a shuck.”

The tunnel entrance was mired in darkness. Fargo descended a few rungs and stopped. He wouldn’t put it past Sarah to have some of her followers hidden just out of sight with orders to rush anyone who climbed down into the cellar. Shifting sideways, he pushed off and jumped. As he landed he leveled the Henry, but no pale forms came storming out to slay him.

Vrittan gripped each side rail. But instead of taking the rungs one at a time, he placed his left foot against the left rail and his right foot against the right one and slid all the way down as slick as could be. “A trick I learned with the circus,” he explained, grinning.

Fargo had been debating that very question. The Dirt Breathers would see a light from a long way off and be drawn to it like moths to a flame. By the same token, without it, they might blunder into a pit or some other nasty surprise. And it was worth bearing in mind the Dirt Breathers couldn’t tolerate bright light. He decided to compromise. “We’ll take it, but we won’t use it unless we have to.”

Fargo made sure the tank was full before setting out. The quiet was unnerving, more so the further they traveled. At the first junction Fargo halted to listen and heard only his companion’s anxious breathing. The man was scared. He hoped Vrittan wouldn’t bolt when they encountered the Dirt Breathers.

For minutes that seemed like hours they wound steadily deeper into the belly of the earth. Fargo was glad he had the old man to guide him, because without Vrittan, he would be hopelessly lost. Twice they heard distant voices that faded. Once they heard the clang of metal on metal. Fargo thought it might be a signal, but nothing ever happened and it wasn’t repeated. He had lost count of the junctions they passed when they came to one more, and Charlie stopped.

“The largest chamber in the mine. A cavern where I found a stockpile of old tools and timbers the Spaniards left behind. The gold ore was at a lot lower depth. Of course, I have no idea where Sarah moved it.”

The murmur became a drone, tongueless men and women’s garbled speech, over a dozen conversations taking place simultaneously. Ahead, on the right, the tunnel wall seemed to fold in on itself. It was actually an opening wide enough for a stagecoach to roll through. Peering beyond, Fargo beheld the natural cavern Vrittan spoke of. Fifty yards long and half as wide, the walls rose to a vaulted apex lost in indigo heights. Along the far wall was old mining equipment and a row of stacked crates.

Of more interest to Fargo were the twenty or so Dirt Breathers gathered in the center. To the left sat a long table, and on it lay a woman, evidently bound. Fargo couldn’t see her face but he didn’t have to. They had round Olivia Dixon.

From somewhere on the right came several more Dirt Breathers, led by none other than Sarah Arvin. Her blonde hair was unmistakable. She was carrying something Fargo couldn’t quite make out. “Friends! Dear ones!” she cried, flinging her arms into the air. “May I have your attention!”

The muttering stopped. Arvin strolled through their midst to the table, and turned. Her teeth flashed white. “We lost many of our brothers and sisters this day, but we have not lost the war! Far from it! For thanks to my son, who gave his life in defense of our cause, the enemy we most despise has been slain! I saw Charlie Vrittan die with my own eyes!”

“The Air Breathers are leaderless!” Sarah crowed. “They will be disorganized, confused. At long last we have an opportunity to finish them off. Tonight, while they cower in their wretched buildings, we will burn their town down around their miserable ears. Those who live will take to the hills where we can track them down and dispose of them at our leisure.”

“After all these years, after all the hardship and tears, our day has come! Once our enemies are disposed of, the gold will finally and truly be ours!” Sarah held aloft the object she had been carrying. “In this satchel is some of the ore we have cached. The ore that will make all of us rich. I brought it here because I like the sweet irony of using it to dispose of yet another enemy. Someone who was once a dear friend, but who made the mistake of siding with Vrittan against us. Against those who only had her best interests at heart.”

Sarah was fiddling with the satchel. There was a loud thunk, and she raised something over her head. “Do you see this chunk of ore? It must weigh ten pounds. And it has such a nice jagged edge. Think of what it will do to our captive’s pretty head when I bring it crashing down on her skull!”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of savoring your fear?” Sarah gloated. “I’ve waited too long for this. Next to Charlie, you’re the one I despise most. Now your treachery will be repaid in full.”

“You were the one who turned against us, remember? The treachery is yours, not mine. And don’t brand me a coward when I’m not. I’ve never been afraid of you, and I’m not afraid now. If my time has come, so be it.”

“You didn’t honestly expect me to kill you outright, did you?” Sarah rejoined. “Hell, no. I want you to suffer. I want you to feel pain such as you have never known. I won’t split your head until the very last.” Sarah nodded at two men. One seized Dixon and held her down while the other untied the rope around her wrists, then stretched her arms as far as they would reach.

As yet no one had noticed Fargo and Charlie. Another thirty feet and they were close enough. Handing the lantern to the midget, Fargo whispered, “When I say the word, light it.”

Fargo took another couple of steps and centered the Henry on Sarah Arvin’s abundant bosom. He would dearly love to shoot her right then but she was to be his unwitting ace in the hole. “Now!” he whispered.

A match flared, and a moment later a yellow glow radiated outward. The light caught Sarah in the act of raising the glistening piece of ore, and froze her in place. The pallid men holding Dixon recoiled, one throwing a hand over his eyes, while the rest of the Dirt Breathers were momentarily transfixed in astonishment.

A few Dirt Breathers took impulsive steps toward him but were grabbed by others. Sarah, herself, didn’t seem the least little surprised, and smiled mockingly.

“Go ahead! Pull the trigger! As soon as you do, you’re a dead man.” Sarah swept the assembled snowy specters with a wave of her hand. “Rush him! Tear the bastard limb from limb. Him and the runt, both!”

“You heard me!” Sarah shouted, and pointed to Fargo. “Ever since this man arrived he has been a thorn in our side. If we let him live, he’ll report us to the army and a detachment will be sent to take us into custody and confiscate our gold!” She paused so it would sink in. “That’s right! They will take our ore. All our hard work, all the friends and family we’ve lost, all the years of heartache and misery, will have been for nothing.”

Fargo could see her impassioned plea was having an impact. Vrittan had it all wrong; she was the one who should have been a lawyer. The crazed looks that came over the Dirt Breathers made him think Vrittan had been right about one thing. Breathing that gas in the lower levels of the mine had done something to their minds. Maybe the gas was why the Spaniards stopped mining to begin with.

“But I can drop you!” Fargo declared. “And with you gone, who will lead them? Who will speak for them now that they can’t speak for themselves? You’re the one person they can’t do without.”

Fargo didn’t dare allow Arvin more time to persuade them. “You two!” he shouted at the men beside the table. “Help Olivia Dixon down, then join the rest.”

Fargo expected Olivia to rush to his side. But the moment her feet touched the cavern floor, she sprang at Sarah, grabbed handfuls of lustrous golden hair, and roughly dragged the taller woman around to the end of the table. Sarah was bent backwards, nearly in half, and couldn’t punch or kick to free herself.

Caterwauling like a catamount, Sarah whisked the piece of ore over her head and threw herself at Dixon. Had the blow landed, there was no doubt Olivia’s head would have split wide open.

Fargo got there first. He blocked the ore with his rifle barrel, then buried the stock in Sarah’s stomach. As she folded, sucking air and sputtering, he tore the ore from her grasp and thrust it at Olivia. “Hold onto this. If she gives you any trouble, use it.”

Several Dirt Breathers were rushing them. Fargo dropped one with a snap shot from the hip, dropped a second with a slug to the chest. For a few seconds his eyes were off Sarah and she seized the chance to scramble across the floor toward her followers.

Olivia started to go after the madwoman, but Fargo snagged her arm and pushed her at Vrittan. “Run for your lives!” Olivia balked, forcing Charlie to clamp hold of her wrist and haul her after him as a howling pack of Dirt Breathers swooped across the cavern.

Fargo had used two of the fifteen rounds in the Henry’s tubular magazine. He fired a third as he backpedaled, and a pale bundle of muscle and bones pitched to earth. Then there was no time to count the shots. Pumping the lever, he fired again and again and again. Each slug dropped a Dirt Breather but there was always another to take their place. He cored a wild-eyed beanstalk through the forehead and drilled a frenzied banshee through the heart. He sent a round into one old enough to be his grandfather and another into one younger than Clarence. And still they came, spreading out to try and outflank him. He downed two on the right and another on the left, blunting the attempt.

Fargo reached the tunnel. Charlie and Olivia were a little farther on, waiting for him to catch up. He sprinted to them, snatched the lantern, and set it down in the center of the passage.

“No time to explain,” Fargo said, pushing them. “Run! Run like hell!” He ran, too, never once taking his eyes off the cavern entrance, and when he saw the remaining Dirt Breathers stream into the tunnel, howling at the top of their lungs, he halted and sank to one knee.

Sarah Arvin was in the lead. Screeching the loudest of the lot and wielding a long-bladed knife, she flew down the tunnel. The lantern meant nothing to her. She was the one Dirt Breather at home above and below ground. But those behind her slowed, unable to bear the bright gleam.

“Keep going!” Fargo responded, and set the Henry’s front bead on the base of the lantern. Aligning the rear sight with the front, he filled his lungs and held his breath. Arvin was thirty feet from the lantern. Then twenty. Then ten. Fargo waited until she was almost on top of it, and smoothly stroked the trigger.

The lantern exploded, spewing a roiling fireball that filled the tunnel from side to side, and a crackling sheet of flame enveloped Sarah. Her dress combusted, turning her into a moving bonfire. Shrieking horribly, she ran a few more yards, then stopped and swatted vainly at the flames. They were spreading too rapidly. Uttering a strangled snarl of baffled rage, she lurched toward Fargo, her hands hooked into claws, her lips drawn back from her perfect teeth.

The Dirt Breathers were retreating into the cavern. Only Arvin was left, her entire body aflame, yet still she staggered determinedly toward them, driven by her insane yet indomitable will.

No one had anything to say until after they were in the clearing outside the cabin with the sun warm on their backs and birds chirping merrily in the trees.

Charlie removed his hat and said gratefully, “It’s over at last. Once you notify the Army, the Dirt Breathers are finished for good.”

Fargo noticed the ore Olivia still held. “May I?” he said, and examined the brass-yellow cubes and nodules. He wasn’t a prospector but he knew a little about gold. “Is the rest of the ore like this piece?”

“All those deaths, all those families whose lives were ruined.” Fargo dropped the ore in the dust. “And all for a bunch of damned pyrite.”

“Fool’s gold, Charlie. The vein you found was nothing but fool’s gold.” Fargo hooked an arm around Olivia and headed for the Ovaro. He wanted some time alone with her, wanted to feel her soft body pressed against his. In a day or two he would head out. But until then, there was nothing like a warm and willing woman to help a man forget.